r is the man who always say ‘i’ve been there,’ you mention the remotest, most evocative place-names in the world like el dorado, kabul, irkutsk and someone is bound to say ‘i’ve been there’—meaning, ‘i drove through it at 100 miles an hour on the way to somewhere else.’

　　when you travel at high speeds, the present means nothing: you live mainly in the future because you spend most of your time looking forward to arriving at some other place. but actual arrival, when it is achieved, is meaningless. you want to move on again. by traveling like this, you suspend all experience; the present ceases to be a reality: you might just as well be dead. the traveler on foot, on the other hand, lives constantly in the present. for him traveling and arrving are one and the same thing: he arrives somewhere with every step he makes. he experiences the present moment with his eyes, his ears and the whole of his body. at the end of his journey he feels a delicious physical weariness. he knows that sound, satisfying sleep will be his: the just reward of all true travelers.